Boost by Vi Summers

 

Chapter 41

-Raf-

 

 

Lowlife. It rang in my ears as I entered the elevator. Don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

The words echoed throughout my head. Terrorizing it. Allowing old memories to take hold.

I thought I’d become a better man than my father. Risen above what I’d endured and broke the cycle of how I’d seen a man treat his woman and children.

And, until today, I had risen above my past. Right up until the moment I hurt the woman that had quickly become everything to me.

Now, I was nothing better than the ugly, caustic monster my father had been. All because I jumped to conclusions when I walked into Landon-Michaels in search of Greer and found Christian holding her like he was about to kiss her.

I was programmed to protect what was mine, and it fucking killed me that I’d lost Greer trying to do exactly that.

Nausea and disgust coiled in the pit of my stomach. It pitched and rolled violently. Crippling me so forcefully I had to reach for the elevator handrail to steady myself. I’d broken my one rule of never hurting those I loved, forgetting those morals in a moment of blindness as if they stood for nothing.

Greer was the only woman to bring me to my knees, and now my own actions did the same.

I caught a flash of myself in the shiny elevator walls. Ugly. Tormented. A monster. It was all there, staring back at me. Taunting and daring me to lash out and punch something like my hand itched to do again. To hell with the after-brawl ache that ran through my knuckles. I needed a release.

When the elevator door pinged open to eject me into the vast foyer, I bit it all back behind my teeth. Swallowed it down and strode across the gleaming stone tiles without seeing. I had to escape. Reach my car. Drive. Drive until it took the edge off.

My hands shook as I slid behind the wheel of my GT-R and gunned the engine. With complete disregard for the parking garage speed limits, I took each ramp like I did each street race; recklessly and at high speed.

Once out on the street, I worked my way in and out of traffic while gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I’d ruined her, just like I knew I eventually would. And the kicker; there wasn’t an ounce of self-sabotage involved—it had purely been a knee-jerk reaction in the heat of the moment that caused me to lose it all.

I drove a hundred miles up the coast, through Malibu and Santa Barbara, all the while airing my soul on the wind. It was all I could do to escape. To block out the utter devastation and pain in Greer’s eyes. Jesus fuck, those brown depths of hers haunted me every time I blinked, every time I let my mind slip back into habits of craving her.

On a whim another fifteen miles down the 101, I took the exit to the swanky as fuck Ritz-Carlton hotel and pulled into the resort’s courtyard. I functioned on auto-pilot, hardly hearing the woman at the reception desk telling me they couldn’t check me in for another two hours, but I was welcome to enjoy a beverage in one of the bars.

After what just went down, a drink sounded pretty fucking good. I slapped my car keys on the reception desk.

“You’ll sort these, yeah?” I asked, with a jerk of my head to where my GT-R sat at the entrance.

The woman hesitated. “We don’t normally offer a valet service, sir.”

“Considering I’ve just booked your best fucking room for the night, I’m sure you’ll make an exception.”

Hearing my raised voice, the duty manager emerged from the rear office. Without a word, he checked my booking, glanced between me, my keys and the car neither of them could afford outside, and gave a quick nod.

“Consider it sorted, sir. Your keys will be in your room in twenty minutes.”

I raised an eyebrow at the clerk who’d just told me check-in would take two hours, then nodded my thanks to the manager. I halted mid-step from the desk and turned back to rap my knuckles against it.

“The bar is open, yeah?”

“Absolutely. Would you like to be escorted there?”

I smiled tightly. “No. Thanks.”

No doubt leaving them with questions about what a guy like me was doing in a place like this, I found the bar, ordered an Old Fashioned, opened a tab, and told the bartender to keep ‘em comin’.

I needed the haze that created an illusion of immortality. The place where emotions were powerless and thoughts were extinguished. And for me, that normally sat down the road that led from hard liquor to a wet pussy.

Fuck.

As soon as my first drink disappeared, another took the spot of the empty glass. I lifted it and indicated I’d be outside on the balcony. Overlooking the resort’s beach nested along the vast Santa Barbara coastline, I stared out across the deep shade of blue that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was the perfect place to sit and drown my demons.

“Sir?”

I glanced up to see a butler holding out a key-card. “The Ritz-Carlton Suite is ready for you now. You can head there at your leisure.”

I lifted the second empty tumbler. “I’ll need a few more of these under my belt first.”

He nodded. “Of course. There is also an impressive selection of liquor in the suite, should you wish to continue later.”

“Thanks,” I snapped in dismissal.

I was being an asshole, I knew that, but I hadn’t yet thrown enough money at my ghosts to make them disappear.

I shifted to dig my phone out of my back pocket and reluctantly unlocked the screen.

“Fuck me,” I hissed. The amount of calls I’d missed from both known and unknown numbers was unnerving. Seemed that I still knew how to create a media frenzy with my fucked-up childhood.

Repulsion uncoiled and twisted in my gut. I was furious that they still held this over me all these years later. I’d busted my balls to get to where I was today, and with one ill-fated press release, my world had burned to the ground all over again.

Historically, I’d proven I could weather that storm. I’d been beaten down and rose from the ashes. I could do that again, for sure, but this time I wouldn’t have the ‘luxury’ of hiding behind a new name.

And the worst part? The part that made me want to implode from the inside out?

Losing Greer.

Her name burned into my mind when I scrolled through the missed-call list. Some were from her. That conversation was one I couldn’t face. Not now, perhaps not ever. Explanations like those were too raw to confront, no matter how far in the past they were.

The thing that got me was the look etched on her face; I’d expected to see fear—I should have seen fear. Instead, I saw denial, and almost acceptance, that I had hurt her. That was just fucked-up.

I gestured for another drink when my empty glass wasn’t immediately replaced. Four more Old Fashions later, I ordered room service and made my way to the suite I’d shelled-out a pretty penny for. If I had any regrets over booking the best suite—which I didn’t—they would have been obliterated the millisecond I entered the lavish, two-bedroom apartment with a wraparound balcony and million-dollar views.

Fulfilling two of the three urges I’d had since leaving L.A. (driving and drinking), I embarked on satisfying the third and final craving. The one that would seal my fate and be the ultimate betrayal to both myself and Greer.

The correlation between my brain and my fingers was completely severed as I searched up my fall-back women. The two I’d already tossed away because, even together, they were nothing compared to one of Greer. But fuck, since there was no way to forgive what I’d done, I needed to forget.

Tequila’s Compton accent reached my ear and pulled me from my ever-darkening thoughts. “Long time no hear, Raf baby.”

“I need you tonight,” I demanded, without sweet-talk or pleasantries.

“No can do. I’m rolling with another now.”

I huffed. “I’ll try Stevie, then.”

Rapturous laughter came through. “Don’t hold your breath, Rafael. She’s hella pissed; you know what she’s like.”

Fuck yes, I did. No reasoning with that one once she got her cheap-ass panties in a bunch. Still…

“Too fucking needy, that’s what. I’ll try my luck.” Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Again, she laughed at me. “Good luck, baby cakes. You’re gonna need it.”

“Bye, Teq.”

On the same breath, I was tapping Stevie's name and pursing my lips. Could I really stoop this low? Fuck exclusivity before I’d given Greer the respect she deserved? The much needed explanation?

“You’ve got some fucking nerve calling me, Rafael,” Stevie spat, making me flinch and pull the phone away from my head.

“You sound like you need a good fucking. Come to the Ritz-Carlton and I’ll give you exactly that.”

“Always the arrogant asshole who thinks he can click his fingers and bitches come running.”

I snorted. “Bitch, you came running as fast as your knock-off Vuitton's could carry you.”

“Fuck you, Raf!”

Drunk but not so intoxicated that I missed the jealousy in her voice, I laughed wickedly. “That’s precisely why I’m calling.” 

Pure venom laced her retort. “I hope you crash and die.”

It took me a single beat to recollect myself. And when I did, I made sure my comeback was the one that stung the most.

“Stevie?”

“What?”

The words intended to wound punched from my mouth, carrying a verbal whiplash sharp enough to draw her hurt-filled gasp through the phone.

“I called Teq before you. What does that tell you? You weren’t anything but a second choice, and I’d drop you again like a hot coal in a blink. Remember that.”

“Go to Hell,” she spat, then ended the call before I could say something else I would no doubt regret come morning.

“Already there, bitch. Already fucking there.”